


his mother's son

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: ADHD!Atreus, ADHD!Faye, Death in the Family, F/M, Flashbacks, Google translate greek, Grieving, Married Couple, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Parental Death, Post-Game, Slice of Life, Suicidal Thoughts, Trying to Cope, google translate icelandic, headcanons, kratos trying to be a good father, kratos's soft side, making up stuff for giant culture, yeah we're going there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: In order to raise his son, Kratos looks to his wife for guidance. (AKA, this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone, so bam, ADHD Faye and Atreus.)
Relationships: Atreus & Kratos (God of War), Faye/Kratos (God of War)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 97





	1. forgetfulness

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah this is partially me exploring a just-for-fun fic concept I had because I can't write in a fandom without doing a fic like this, it's just required by law now, and partially me trying to hammer down my Faye and Kratos voices, and how I want to write their relationship before I go ahead and commit to a whole-ass series (though I am...definitely planning one...shhh). If anything seems a bit wonky, that's probably why.

He’d thought, at first, it was some sort of ritual. It had the signs of one: the runes carved into the wall by the doorway, the way she touched each item on her person ( _bow, quiver, arrows, axe, knife, pack)_ in the same order every time, and the words whispered quietly to herself in her native tongue.

Kratos didn’t learn the truth until several months into the marriage.

“ _Bogi, kálfur, örvar_ …” Faye’s hand hovered in the air briefly, encountering nothingness where the arrows should have been. “ _Shit_.” Faye moved back into the house, a sour look on her face. “Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.” Kratos frowned slightly, his mind slowly putting the pieces together. “Is that what that is? A reminder?”

“Yeah.” She returned with the arrows, started again-- _bogi, kálfur, örvar, öxi, hnífur, pakki -_ _-_ before starting out the door. “I said don’t laugh.”

“And I said I won’t.” He meant it, too; even in his cruelest days, he knew better than to mock someone’s methods. Kratos only lingered in the doorway long enough to examine the words. It was strange to see them now, knowing how mundane they truly were. “I thought…”

“Hmm?”

He shrugged, suddenly unsure how to explain. “I thought it was like...” He nodded back to the small collection of featureless statuettes she kept on a shelf. “That.” He’d seen the way she looked at them, sometimes, touching each one individually some nights before they slept, whispering with a quiet reverence. 

_Sjá, þar sé ég móður mína. Sjá, þar sé ég föður minn. Sjá, þar sé ég systur mínar og bræður. Sjá, kalla þeir til mín._

“Oh.” She shook her head. “No, it’s, ah...second time I tracked a deer to the borders of the forest only to realize I didn’t have anything to kill it made me realize I needed that.”

“... _second_ time?”

“...fifth time... _you said you wouldn’t laugh_.”

“I won’t!”

“You’re smiling.”

“That’s not laughter. I only smile because I love you deeply.”

“ _Oh,_ don’t you dare.” She had to turn her face to hide her own smile. “ _You’re_ carrying the catch home.”

“ _Já, elskan_.”

“ _Don’t..._ ” She pointed a warning finger at him, but he could see the smile struggling to break through. “Your pronunciation is getting better. Keep up, _björn_.”

“Hmm.” He caught up to her easily, moving so they were walking side-by-side. “I’m here.”

_I’ll always be here._

* * *

  
  


The boar had been a nuisance for weeks, tearing through their meager gardens and somehow _always_ managing to escape whenever they tried to corner it. Atreus had wounded it on their last encounter; Kratos was confident that this incursion would be its last.

There was one problem.

 _“Boy!_ ” Kratos was already out the door, and had to force himself to stop and wait. “Your boar is getting away.”

Atreus was hovering in the doorway, eyes darting between Kratos and the doorframe, lips moving soundlessly. Whatever he was doing, they didn’t have time for it. “ _Atreus!_ ”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Atreus’s face twisted in a grimace before he darted out the door, bow already drawn. “Which way did it go?”

“You tell me.” Kratos watched as Atreus consulted the tracks. His gaze sharpened as he took off running. “Not too far ahead!”

His child was a god, but he was still young, and boars were still dangerous. Especially one as large as this bastard. Kratos wanted to be close when they went in for the kill.

They raced after the boar, following its tracks. It wasn’t too difficult--the size of its prints aside, it was moving too quickly to be stealthy, destroying any underbrush and plowing through the snow as it went. Atreus followed it with ease. He reminded Kratos of Faye in those moments. Same intense eyes.

If she were here, he thought, she probably would’ve followed the damn thing for days after the _first_ time, right back to its lair. His wife didn’t have his same tendency for rage, but when something properly infuriated her, she was a sight to behold.

... _had been_ a sight to behold.

“Over there!” Atreus’s call came in a quiet hiss, jarring Kratos from his rumination. _Focus, Spartan,_ he chided himself, and caught up to his son. Atreus was crouched behind cover, watching as the boar rooted food something in the dirt. Food, perhaps, or something it thought was food. “I can make the shot.”

“Then do it.” He watched Atreus’s posture, observing without critiquing. He was trying to let the boy learn on his own, to only address problems when they arose and offer more praise. It seemed to be working. “Breathe…”

Artreus pulled the bow back. Aimed carefully.

The arrow flew straight and true, striking the boar. It squealed and stumbled forward, driving the arrow further into its heart as it moved. Atreus turned to face him, smiling brightly…

Then froze, the smile replaced by confusion. Then…

“ _Father!_ ”

He heard the approaching creature not long after.

Kratos swung around, just in time to see a second boar charging them.

He shoved Atreus out of the way just before the boar made impact. It slammed into him with surprising force, managing to knock him onto his back. He tried to hold it at bay, to bring the Levithan axe up into the creature’s neck while holding the head back and away from his face…

Atreus leapt onto the creature with a scream, driving an arrow repeatedly into the boar’s eye. The creature reared back in pain, dislodging Atreus and giving Kratos an opening to bring the axe home. It sank deep, leaving a gaping wound that sprayed blood as he pulled it free.

The creature did not last long, stumbling away to bleed out next to its brethren.

“Are you okay?” Atreus asked.

“I am well.” Kratos got up carefully. His pride was more injured than his body; he was sure he would ache for the rest of the day, and a few loose stones had dug into his back, but it was nothing. “Are you?”

He expected Atreus to look triumphant. Instead he looked...angry? “Boy?”

“I forgot. I _forgot my knife_.”

 _Ah_ . That was why he had used an arrow. Kratos considered a reprimand, but Atreus continued speaking before he could. “I’m so _stupid_...you could’ve gotten hurt…!”

 _The boy punishes himself enough_ . _You don’t have to add to that._

Mimir was right sometimes, as much as Kratos hated to admit it.

“Atreus.” His son stopped pacing and looked up at him with apprehensive eyes. “I am not harmed. You thought quickly and adapted to the situation.” A bit more sternly, Kratos added, “You will not forget again, yes?”

“I won’t. I _promise_ , I won’t.”

“Good. Then there is nothing else to discuss.” Kratos tilted his chin towards the boars. “Come. We should get these back to the house.”

As Kratos hauled both boar back to the house, Atreus moving ahead of him to sweep for other potential threats, a single memory worried away at his mind. Faye, standing in the doorway, whispering six words to herself as she checked each item, including...

 _Hnífur_ _._ Knife. The one thing Atreus had forgotten.

Would he have remembered if Kratos had not rushed him? Would those few seconds have made a difference either way?

Kratos shook off the thought. They were both unharmed, and both boars were dead. They would provide food for the coming months, and no longer be a nuisance. All was well. No sense dwelling on what might have been. He made a note of Atreus’s need to consult the frame before leaving home, and resolved to allow him this in the future.

He moved forward.

Atreus, in contrast, still seemed trapped by the mistake. It was clear in the way he immediately went into the house to retrieve the knife, the tension in his shoulders, and the way he wouldn’t look directly at Kratos. It was as if he were expecting another reprimand.

This time, it was Faye’s voice that drifted through his mind. _He just wants your approval. I know you love him, but he needs to hear it from you._

She was always right, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

It was clumsy--physical affection still didn’t come naturally to him--but he rested a hand on Atreus’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “You did well, son. Do not dwell on it.”

Atreus looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised. When the surprise passed, he looked grateful, relieved. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

And that was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boar fight is definitely inspired by the first book in the Ranger's Apprentice series since I decided to re-read those recently, having not touched them since high school. The statues Faye has are low-key inspired by Gladiator, another favorite of mine from high school and no you’re NOT allowed to judge me. The untranslated Icelandic (here standing in for Faye's native tongue) translates to a variation of the funeral prayer Atreus says in-game, with the addition of “Lo, do I see my sisters and brothers”, and also "Yes, dear."


	2. racing thoughts & speech

They had spent most of the afternoon in silence.

It was not an uncomfortable silence. It was a quiet he had not known in some time; the safe, gentle kind that could only be shared with those who knew each other well. A silence he’d once had with his brothers in arms, with his family...

Kratos opened his eyes and looked at Faye. The sight of her fixing some of her braids, the red in her hair shining in the sunlight, soothed the ache in his heart. They were here, together, and all was well.

“Do you think the roof needs fixing?”

The question jarred him from his thoughts. “Hmm?”

“I was just…” Faye finally looked at him. “I keep thinking I hear dripping at night while I’m trying to sleep, but that might be something outside. Might be better to check, yeah?”

This time, when he hummed, it was in agreement. Then, “What brought this on?”

“I was just…” Her gaze wandered away from him to a nearby bush. Water from the last night’s rain dripped from one of the leaves. That must have stirred up the thought. “Thinking out loud. Are you doing all right, by the way? New cave treating you well?”

Kratos chuckled. “The new cave is treating me well.” Moving within her borders had helped with his sleep. He felt safer there. “Thank you.”

“Hmm, good.” She moved closer, leaning his head against his shoulder. “How much do you know about fruit preservation?”

All right, he had to know. “Woman, _what_ does that have to do with my cave?”

“Because I was thinking about you staying fed in the winter in that cave of yours. The temperature is going to start falling eventually. Better to start preparing for it now.” The leap in conversation made sense _now_ ; he just had to be shown the steps. “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

“You’re allowed, but it’s not necessary. I’ve had worse than a few harsh winters.” It had been some time, so long that it seemed an eternity, but he wasn't shocked by the cold so much anymore. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to it (he was, in his heart, still Greek, and the blistering cold of this land had not been on the list of hardships he'd faced there), but he could survive it. "Though I don't know much about fruit preservation."

"I'll show you. It will be fun." She straightened up enough to kiss his temple. "I'll even explain it slowly, so you can keep up."

He would've been offended if anyone else had said it, but with her, _explaining things slowly_ was a necessity. Faye's mind was like a deer, leaping and racing ahead with speed and grace, vanishing only to reappear several topics ahead, following trails only she knew. Kratos thought with the singular determination of a tortoise. It suited him well, even if it meant he couldn't always keep up with her.

That was all right. He could manage.

* * *

Atreus learned how to ask _why_ not long after his first sickness. It quickly became his favorite word. Why this. Why that. The boy was full of endless questions about _everything_. It reminded him of Calliope.

It was that similarity that made the questions so difficult to hear. That and Atreus's uncanny ability to touch on topics Kratos _didn't_ want to talk about.

He was trying to unlearn the connection. It wasn't fair to Atreus. It wasn't fair to Calliope, either. And he knew keeping his past a secret had only brought their family pain, that he _should_ be more honest. So he tried to listen, to answer his son's questions instead of brushing them off. To _talk to him_ , something Faye had always encouraged him to do.

It was getting easier--more so as the boy learned what topics to let Kratos address in his own time instead of demanding answers--but Kratos struggled to keep up with the speed of his son's curiosity. The rapid shifts in conversation didn't help. It reminded him of Faye, sometimes, but unlike his mother, Atreus had not yet learned to slow down. Mimir could keep up, at least, putting his alleged superior intelligence to good use. Others they knew…

"Shit, kid, you trying to muscle in on my business? Is that what this is?" Brok crossed his arms and glowered. "Why do you want to know so much?"

Atreus's face fell slightly. Sindri, who had been in the process of explaining enchantments, immediately picked up a chunk of steel and threw it at his brother. "Leave him _alone_. At least _someone_ appreciates the work I do around here."

Brok dodged the metal easily. "Maybe if you spent more time actually _working_ instead of yammering with the kid…"

" _Excuse you!_ "

 _I don't remember Deimos being like this_ , Kratos thought bitterly. To distract himself from that thought, he made a point of putting down his armor as loudly as possible. "Can you repair it or not?" he asked, tone sharp, pointed, directed entirely at Brok.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll _look_. Damn." Brok started examining the armor. "Geez, the fuck did you two get into?"

Normally, Atreus would have launched into a retelling of their most recent adventure. This time, all he said, subdued and quiet, was, "Just some draugr."

Not for the first or last time, Kratos was at a loss. Unsure how to respond to his own son.

And not for the first or last time, someone else knew better than him what to do.

"Hey, you know what, I just remembered, I need help with…moving things," Sindri said suddenly. It was either a weak excuse or a lie, but his next words made both options acceptable: "I could use an extra set of hands, if you don't mind, Atreus? And I _really_ want to hear about those draugr."

"I…" Atreus looked at Brok and the damaged armor. "Shouldn't you...?"

" _He_ can work on his own, since he keeps insisting he prefers the quiet."

Brok waved them both off. That, combined with a nod of permission from Kratos, sent Atreus off after Sindri.

"He's a lot of kid to handle, isn't he?" Brok grunted.

The dwarf wasn't _wrong_ , but Kratos resented hearing it from him. "He's still young," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. _He's still young, and_ **_you're_ ** _not his father._ "He'll…"

Brok interrupted with a snort. "Son, I hate to tell you this, but your boy's a cart with no driver and the horses are fucking skittish. He ain't gonna grow out of it, either. His mother was the same way. He gets it honest."

Strange; Brok rarely spoke about Faye. It seemed they weren't as close as she and Sindri had been, or that Brok hid his affections for her well. Kratos's surprise at hearing her mention was outweighed by his dislike for the context. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, c'mon, did you two never talk? You had a kid together and you didn't notice?" Brok roughly adjusted one of the straps on Kratos's armor. "She could blab your ear off if she wanted. Damn near impossible to keep up once she got started."

Again: the dwarf wasn't wrong. And again, Kratos wasn't sure he had any right to say it, but he didn't have a rebuttal. Fortunately, Mimir did. "Not their fault you've got boulders where your brains should be," the head scoffed.

Brok rolled his eyes. "Hey, you mind tossing him over there if he's going to be like that?"

Kratos sighed heavily and moved closer to Atreus and Sindri, taking Mimir off his belt and propping him up on a nearby boulder. The one on one attention let Atreus open up again; he was speaking quickly, eagerly, miming the swinging of an axe as he recounted the story. If Sindri was struggling to keep up, he didn't let it show.

"Brok's not wrong, you know," Mimir noted.

"Hmm." Kratos paused, then added, quietly, "He was...right about Faye, as well." He saw more and more of her in Atreus as he watched. The memories of her animatedly telling their son stories, acting them out with his toys and sticks for weapons, filled his chest with a mixture of fondness and sorrow.

"It's not such a bad thing, if you ask me," Mimir said. "He'll learn to control it. Just give him time."

Kratos hummed in agreement. He was sure Mimir was right. Faye, for all her spirited speech, knew how to mold her words to best suit a situation. She did not simply let them flow free the way Atreus did.

She would have been able to teach him how if she were here.

Deep down, Kratos feared that he couldn't do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: this fic has an outline now, kinda. Also Brok's "cart with no driver" metaphor is me trying to implement the "Ferrari engine with no brakes" metaphor for ADHD into a setting where cars don't exist.


	3. easily distracted

There were times when Faye was as focused as any warrior he'd known in Greece. Other times, she would leave for a hunt and come back having foraged instead. Sometimes she would come back with both a catch and foraged berries or mushrooms, but having taken twice as long to accomplish the task.

Kratos used to think her asking if he'd come with her, _to keep me on track_ , was an attempt at friendship, then a flirtation as the relationship progressed. He eventually learned that he did keep her on track whenever she needed it. Sometimes his presence was enough; other times, all she needed was a gentle reminder.

_Elskan, the deer?_

_Right, right, just remind me to check back here again for…_

Kratos never had it in him to be impatient with her, but the behavior was still as strange to him as the cold and the runes and the frozen mountains of this land. That kind of behavior would not have stood in Sparta. It would have been seen as lack of discipline. Either the people of this land were more relaxed, or only Faye was. Surprisingly, he found it calming. If she could afford a lack of focus in day to day tasks…

Foolish as it was to think, perhaps it meant this place was safe.

* * *

Young children had a talent for disappearing when you had your back turned. He had nearly misplaced both of his children that way, several times. Calliope had grown out of that tendency fairly quickly.

Atreus did not.

"Boy, here…"

When there was no response--no _coming father,_ no _be right there_ , nothing--Kratos turned around, his heart in his throat. The hallway behind him was empty. No sign of his son.

Before Kratos could call out, he heard thumping back the way they came. He ran in the direction of the sound, axe at the ready, mind racing. There hadn't been any draugr or other threats that way, but they hadn't checked _every_ side passage, something could have ambushed him…

"... _careful, careful...!_ "

There was more thumping; to Kratos's relief, the next voice he heard was his son's: "No, no, no... _aww_..."

When he rounded the corner, Atreus was standing in front of a wall of shelves. They had passed it by, with the intention of searching it once they had confirmed the library was _safe._ Atreus, it seemed, was too impatient.

"I _did_ warn you," said Mimir, who was perched on a nearby bench facing the shelves. "Did you grab it? Your da's probably noticed…"

"He has," said Kratos.

Atreus dropped the book he was holding as he turned around. It looked as if he'd pulled out half the shelf in his efforts at retrieving whatever it was he was looking for. He at least had the decency to look guilty. "...for the record, I told him not to," Mimir said sheepishly.

Kratos ignored the comment. It was not Mimir's duty to remind Atreus of something he should…

_He's only a boy still. He's still young. He's learning._

Kratos took a deep breath.

"I was worried," he said.

The guilt on Atreus's face grew. "I wasn't…"

" _Boy._ No excuses."

"...yes, sir."

"This area is still unfamiliar. We _need_ to stay together."

"Yes, father."

"...did you at _least_ find something worthwhile?"

"Oh, I...I think so. It's…" Atreus picked back up the book he'd dropped. "...Vanaheim runes. I haven't seen many books written that way."

Atreus was right; even Kratos's untrained eye could see the runes were foreign. He was, despite himself, impressed the boy had spotted it. They had walked by too quickly for anything more than a cursory glance, and with it being one book of many on disorganized, unstable shelves…

He had an eye for detail. Kratos could not deny that. What he _lacked_ was focus. Perhaps they could fix that.

Kratos stepped back and nodded up the hallway. "You take the lead."

Atreus looked taken aback. "Wait, really?"

"If you can notice one book that interests you, you can notice potential threats, yes?" Atreus nodded eagerly. "Go on, then."

The tactic worked; the extra weight of responsibility kept Atreus focused more than the simple command to follow had. He still needed guidance on occasion, a reminder to check a room before running past, to continue moving and not linger too long, but he didn't wander off again. Once they were sure there was nothing in the area that could harm them, Kratos gave Atreus permission to search the shelves.

The memory resurfaced as he watched Atreus search the shelves. Snow on the ground, a tall figure stopping suddenly, stopping as well, _elskan, the deer…_

"You all right, brother?" Mimir asked.

"Hmm." Kratos kept his eyes fixed on his son. "It is nothing."

Just a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain really said "we're gonna hyperfocus on this concept and NOT your NaNo project, sorry about that." Also Atreus is just me in literally any Joann Fabrics or large Barnes & Noble.


	4. hyperfixation

Sometimes, Kratos wished he had asked Faye how to read.

She had never offered, perhaps sensing his lack of desire to learn. It was knowledge he did not need to survive, and even in Greece he had not been one to read for pleasure. But her enthusiasm on the subject was clear. Even if she didn't try to teach him, she was more than willing to give her thoughts on the importance of language.

"The magic is in the words," she explained, her fingers tracing the tattoos on her arms. "The blessing of everyone who came before and wore the same ones. Every hunter and protector."

She told him what each one meant, and he remembered all of them. Words for swiftness and steady hands and endurance. Words that marked family ties, lineage... _heritage_ , she told him. _Our son will wear them, too,_ she said as she held Atreus in her arms.

Faye's interest in words went beyond the ones she wore. She had her own journals, full of carefully recorded tales--stories that ran in her family, the same ones she would tell Atreus as he grew older, dreams and daily occurrences she felt noteworthy. _It's memory,_ she said. _It has to live on. It's important._

It had mattered to _her_ , so he always listened. But he wished he had done more, cared more, asked to be more involved in something she spoke about so often and so richly.

That regret was the reason he let Atreus teach him. He did not want to make the same mistake with his son, and he wanted to read the words his wife had so carefully recorded. The memories she had been so intent on preserving.

It was too late, perhaps, but he liked to believe she would appreciate his efforts.

* * *

Silence was rarely a good thing when you had children. Atreus was usually so spirited, to have him be completely silent was a cause for alarm, especially with his history of illness. But these days, whenever the silence went too long, Kratos always found Atreus doing the same thing: sitting somewhere warm with his nose in one of the books they'd uncovered.

It was, at least, a relief that the boy was not getting into trouble or struggling to breathe. But it could be difficult to drag Atreus away from the tomes. Usually he required additional prompting, and whenever he was done with his assigned task, he went right back to reading.

"He's trying to learn more magic," Mimir explained one night, having noted Kratos watching his son with a concerned look. "Don't think he's given up on that dream of turning into a wolf."

 _Ah._ That made sense. It _was_ the first thing he'd asked about when Kratos told him the truth of his lineage. "Can he do that with magic?"

"Theoretically. Freya managed it. Remember, before you had that, ah...run-in with Baldur? When she flew over as a falcon? That was magic."

"Enchanted cloak," Atreus mumbled.

"What's that, lad?" 

"It's an enchanted cloak." Atreus finally looked up from the book. "I found the instructions, I'm just trying to figure them out…" He looked around, eyes widening as he realized how much the house had darkened. "...did I miss anything…?"

"It's still snowing," Kratos said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "I was just about to start dinner."

"Okay... _ow._ " Atreus stood up slowly, wincing as he did. "Do you know what a beserker is?"

"I do."

"Did you know it's some of the same magic Freya uses?"

"I did not."

"Did you know there are other kinds? Úlfhéðnar and Svinfylking?" Atreus sat down closer to the fire. "It's the same thing, but with wolves and boars. Úlfhéðnar usually worship Odin but they don't _have to..._ "

"You are _determined_ to turn into a wolf, aren't you?"

" _Yeah_ , it'd be _amazing,_ " Atreus responded, a little defensively. "Right?"

Kratos didn't see the appeal personally, but… "Yes," he relented. "It would be impressive."

It mattered to Atreus, so Kratos could make it matter to him. And there was little doubt in Kratos's mind that his son would figure it out one day. Especially if he stayed so fixated on the subject.

It was good to see him applying himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atreus and Kratos achieving wizard/barbarian synergy = the true dream.


	5. easily bored

They had a shared need to stay busy, but for different reasons. Kratos kept his body busy to keep his mind occupied. If he was still, his thoughts drifted into the past. Back to his mistakes.

Faye, meanwhile, simply had a distaste for inaction. It was a side of her he saw more after they were wed, and mostly in winter. The short days and frequent snowstorms often left them stranded in their home with little to do but wait out the cold. She did whatever work she could, but he could see the restless energy behind her eyes.

"If this doesn't let up tomorrow, I _am_ going to go mad," she announced one day. She was lying on the floor again. Faye wasn't prone to dramatics; the floor was an exception. "How are you so _calm?_ "

Kratos shrugged. "I've lived too long to notice." He tried not to think about the years that had simply... _happened_. A few odd decades gone, lost to isolation and cold and times when he was so lost in his mind that he wasn't sure where he was. "It's different when…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. She _knew,_ but they rarely spoke of his true nature. It was a silent agreement between the two of them, forged when she asked him if he preferred Kratos or Fárbauti. He could have left his name behind--he'd certainly thought about it--but she said it with a gentleness that severed it from its bloody past. He could keep that, he'd decided, but the rest stayed dead and buried in Greece.

"Hey."

Kratos hadn't noticed her stand until that moment. She waited until she had his full attention before she sat down next to him and gently, carefully, took the boot he'd been repairing out of his hands. "I've got it," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "You hate doing that."

"I do, yes, but I'm desperate."

"And what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Tell me a story? And don't tell me you don't know any good ones. You say that every time and I know it's not true."

He wanted to protest, but if she was so determined not to succumb to boredom that she would take on a task she hated (and he _knew_ she hated it)...well, he could try to entertain her or he could watch her end up on the floor again. Or pacing around the home. Neither option was appealing. He hated to see her like that.

"What...kind of story?" he asked clumsily.

"Tell me about…" She trailed off, thinking. "When we met."

"You were _there_."

"But I don't know what you were thinking."

"Mostly, I was trying not to be killed." He paused and tried to think back to that day. "You were...the first person I'd seen in some time. I wasn't expecting it."

Faye leaned against his shoulder as she examined the work he'd already done. "Did you think I was the most beautiful creature you'd ever seen?" she teased.

"I didn't think you were real until you shot at me." He couldn't say why he'd thought that--she resembled none of his ghosts, no one from Greece whose screams woke him up when memories were too overpowering. She had just seemed too... _vibrant._ Hair like the changing leaves, dressed in blues, staring at him with sharp eyes, too vividly alive in a world of stone and cold. The arrow she'd put in the tree next to him had dispelled any doubt about her existence. "If I'd known you would marry me one day, I might not have retaliated."

She laughed, hard enough that it came out sounding like a snort (something he'd always found endearing). "If _I'd_ known, I wouldn't have shot at you at all." She tried to match the size of his stitches; even if she didn't succeed, she was at least neater than usual. "And I wasn't trying to hurt you, for what it's worth."

"I know." He might not have realized it at first, but it was obvious in hindsight. Another thought occurred to him. "How long were you alone? Before you found me."

Faye's hands slowed. "...a while," she admitted, quietly. "I couldn't say how long exactly."

"How did you…?" The question slipped out before he could consider it, and he felt guilt the second it left his lips. She never asked about his past, yet here he was, prying into hers. He didn't know how painful the memories might be. "You don't have to answer that."

"It's all right. How did I survive without you to keep me entertained?" She glanced his way; she was smiling, but she seemed ashamed of her answer. "I...picked fights and I slept, mostly."

The answer felt familiar in a way he didn't like. He thought about cold ground underneath him, watching the sun rise and set from the same spot without being able to rouse himself, driving his hands into stone and hoping against all hope that one of the strikes would cause an ache. Pain. _Any_ sensation.

The thought of her feeling the same unnerved him. Perhaps it was that deep feeling of dread that drove the next words from his mouth.

"There is...one story from when I was younger…"

The look of immediate interest on Faye's face made his trepidation worthwhile, even when it was followed by a look of concern. "Oh, you don't have to…"

He shook his head. "I want to tell you. It's...a good memory."

So he told her, haltingly, afraid at first but with more confidence when the memory did not burn, about his old friend Atreus and his increasingly complex methods of stealing food. He left out the parts where they were _expected_ to steal, about the beating they'd both received when his early plans failed, knowing fully well she wouldn't understand. People outside of Sparta rarely did. There was still plenty of story left to tell, and it kept her entertained.

"He sounds like a lot of fun," she said when he was done.

"He was. He would have liked you." Kratos knew that for sure. He was less certain if Atreus would like the person Kratos had become, but he let that thought go. He was sure it would return later to haunt him, but for now, he wanted to enjoy this. Remembering his past without pain. Being here, now, with Faye, the restlessness in her eyes subsided.

 _All is well_ , he told himself. A quiet mantra.

_All is well._

* * *

He hadn't planned on teaching Atreus Greek. He hadn't even spoken Greek around Faye once she knew. The words still felt bitter in his mouth, and all the things he could have said (αγαπητέ μου, καρδιά μου, σε αγαπώ) reminded him too much of someone else. So he let the words fester and die while new ones grew slowly in his mind like moss. He only faltered sometimes, when he was alone, or dreaming.

Then came the long winter.

He refused to call it the Fimbulwinter, but he could not deny that it was harsher than usual. The winter storms had kept them inside more than once, and each day sequestered away had Atreus grow more sullen and withdrawn.

"Are you _sure_ we can't go outside?" he asked one day. "I mean, we're _gods_. It's not like it's Helheim out there."

"Are you the god of winter, boy?"

"...no…"

"Travel?"

"I don't _think_ so?"

"Then trust me, you can still get lost in a storm, god or not." He could see the question coming before Atreus asked. "I know from experience. If you are like me, you will not freeze to death, but it will not be pleasant."

"Oh." Artreus sighed heavily and lay back down on his bed. "Okay."

He slept, or at least rested, frequently during those days. Kratos and Mimir did what they could to keep the boy busy or entertained; sometimes he paced around the space, peering out the door briefly to confirm that it was still snowing, even lying on the floor and staring listlessly at his toys. But other times, he drifted away, lost in a way that reminded him far too much of darker days in his own past.

He could not leave it alone, so he asked Atreus.

"I'm not sick," Atreus said immediately, defensively.

"I know." They were sorting through some items they had retrieved from Tyr's temple. Atreus was still intent on his quest to learn as much about magic as possible, and on protecting the information in the temple from anyone who might use it for ill. They had not seen any of the Aesir since Baldur's death, but the concern was still there. "But you seem…withdrawn."

"I'm…"

Atreus stopped. He wasn't avoiding the question; his face said he was thinking, trying to gather the words. "...I'm just bored," he said finally. "If there's nothing to do, my head just gets...foggy? It makes me feel like I did when I was sick, even though I'm not. So I just…take a nap and hope it goes away." He paused, then picked up a new scroll. "I know, there's probably stuff I could be doing, but it's mostly boring. And we're running out of stuff for you to read."

That was true. The reading lessons seemed to be the one task that Atreus had any interest in, but they were lacking in materials. Kratos doubted there was anything in their recent haul that would help with that; most of it seemed too advanced for him.

"Oh!" Atreus sat up suddenly, already seeming more vibrant than he had in some time. "I don't know this one!" He passed the scroll to Kratos. "Look…"

He may not have known it, but Kratos did immediately. Even with the wear, the words were familiar to him. "It's Greek," he said.

"You know it?! What does it say?!"

He could have told him. Kratos still knew the language, even if he was a slow reader. But he saw an opportunity. "Here." He gestured for Atreus to come closer and carefully laid out the scroll between them. "I'll show you."

If he felt uncertain about engaging with the language again, it was drowned out by the vibrant smile on his son's face. "Really?" he asked as he scrambled over.

"Really. But be patient with me. I don't think I'm as skilled a teacher as you."

It was difficult at first--both to remember what the letters meant and to hear the words being spoken. Two things helped. The first was the way Atreus spoke the language--the falting, careful way he formed the words, thickly accented, unlike the fluid speech he remembered from before.

The second was seeing Atreus engaged, alert, present. Not trapped in his own mind in an attempt at staving off the boredom.

"You were wrong, you know," Atreus said later, once the lesson was over.

"About what?"

"You're a good teacher." He looked so genuine, it made Kratos's chest ache. "Thank you for showing me."

"You're welcome, Atreus."

_All is well. All is well. All is well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Greek in this chapter is supposed to translate to "My dear, my heart, I love you." True story, I nearly had Kratos call her an endearment in Greek in chapter one, but figured that wouldn't make complete sense with his Trauma, so I switched to Icelandic.
> 
> Concept: Atreus of Sparta also had ADHD. Another concept: immortal beings are time blind by default. Was that two weeks ago? Two years? Two decades?? Who knows. I've been alive 100,000 years, it all blends together.


	6. struggles with motivation/procrastination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying a different method of writing out the Greek translations, since it takes up so much of the dialogue this chapter. Let me know what y'all think!

"Eiginmaður, have I ever told you that you are deeply patient and I love you for it?"

"...what brought this on?"

"I need you to be a little less patient with me."

" _Why_?"

"Because if someone doesn't bully me into fixing this damn net, it's not going to happen."

The net _had_ been broken for some time; he hadn't commented, because they were fine for fish and had other ways to catch them. "I can fix the net…"

"No, I _have_ to. If I keep putting off doing things I don't want to do, I'll never do anything." She didn't look _thrilled_ , but she at least seemed genuine. "So. Pester me. Please? I'm trying to be disciplined."

Kratos nodded gravely. "You speak, wisely." He could have, as she said, bullied her, but he knew that wouldn't work. She was stubborn; he could just as easily push her into not wanting to do it _more_.

But she _did_ like being challenged.

It took him a moment, but he was able to set up a crude sort of sundial. "I'll tell you another story from Greece if you can finish before the sun reaches here," he said. Normally, the promise would make his stomach twist, but after the last time, he was feeling...perhaps brave wasn't the right word. Maybe foolish.

Regardless of how he felt, the promise worked; Faye looked _immediately_ interested. "All right, all right…you really know how to motivate a girl."

The time it took Faye to finish repairing the net gave him time to decide on a story, and brace itself for the retelling. She finished with time to spare, surprising herself more than him. "Why does it always take less time than I think it will?" she asked, examining her work.

"You underestimate yourself?" Kratos smiled as Faye sat down next to him, draping her legs into his lap and resting her head on his shoulder. "You finished faster than I usually do."

"I find that hard to believe. You're better at knots." She kissed his cheek. "I think you owe me a story now, if you're still…?"

 _You don't have to if you don't want to_. He could hear it in her voice. But he had already committed, and he was determined to push forward.

"It's nothing that happened to me, but a story I heard growing up. The Mouse and the Lion."

"The...what's a lion?"

Kratos hesitated, and barely bit back a laugh at his own foolishness. He had been so intent on choosing a story she'd like that he'd forgotten...they didn't have lions here. "They're cats, but...wolf-sized. More or less."

"They get that big?!"

"They do south of here." He carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It starts with...a lion, asleep in his lair. And the mouse..."

* * *

" _Και τώρα βλέπετε…_ [And now you see]" Artreus hesitated, hands stilling as he remembered the words. His pronunciation was clumsy still, but improving. " _...Ακόμα και...ακόμη και ένα ποντίκι μπορεί να βοηθήσει ένα λιοντάρι_ [...even...even a mouse can help a lion]."

"Good."

Life had been quiet lately, but not without its share of hardships. Their current problem was twofold. One: Atreus had grown several inches since the winter started. Kratos has expected and hoped for this; he took it as a sign of good health. But it also meant he was growing out of his clothes and boots. He would need new ones.

Two: Atreus hated everything about the process of making new clothing. Holding still to make sure everything fit, sewing, cleaning the hides and any cloth they managed to find or buy off Brok and Sindri. Kratos could have done much of the work himself, but it was important that Atreus learned to maintain his own possessions. That was difficult when he dragged his feet on starting, on sitting down and paying attention when Kratos tried to teach him.

Commanding him only went so far. They'd already fought about it, more than once. Each argument felt like a step backwards, when they'd come so far, and…

_There has to be a better way to do this._

Kratos tried combining the tasks with Atreus's Greek lessons. It didn't make Atreus enjoy the tasks any more, but it did get him to start, and once he started, the task actually got done--usually, more quickly than his son anticipated.

"And what is the message of the story?" Kratos asked.

"Uhm. Is it that…?"

" _Στα ελληνικά, αγόρι._ [In Greek, boy.]" 

"Right. _Αυτό το μέγεθος δεν έχει σημασία? Και…_ [That size doesn't matter? And…]" 

Atreus paused again. "I don't know the word. Mercy?"

Kratos felt brief shame that he had never thought to teach his son the word before then. "Ελεος."

"Ελεος," Atreus repeated. Then, he finished his thought. " _Το έλεος είναι σημαντικό. Σωστά?_ [Mercy is important. Right?]" 

Kratos nodded. "Hmm. _Μιλάτε με σύνεση._ [You speak wisely.]"

It was good to hear. Reassuring. 

Perhaps the poison in his blood had not infected his son entirely.

"I think this is done. Can I…?"

The hide was, in fact, cleaned, and faster than it would have been without the lessons. There were other things to do, but… "Yes, go."

Atreus took off running, back to his books. Kratos sighed as he stood and gathered the hides. Other tasks could wait. He had to pick his battles, and with this not being urgent…better to let Atreus pick his own activities for the day.

With enough luck, boots and shirts would still be the most of their concerns tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing some really good shit for chapters eight and nine but still having to write more stuff before I can share it like: *re-reading those bits and screaming internally*
> 
> Also the part with Faye could really be titled "Kratos accidentally invents gameification", and for the record! There is a non-zero chance some vikings may have known what a lion is, but seeing how we don't have any evidence Faye ever left Midgard and I don't know how much Tyr would've told her about his travels (assuming they knew each other, I think it's implied they did but not to what extent), I went with the funny option of "Faye doesn't know wtf a lion is." Also also, only thing not translated here is Eiginmaður (Husband).
> 
> (Also also also, to the AO3 user who I talked to about stimming, good news! That's next chapter.)


	7. fidgeting & stimming

There reached a point in every relationship where you knew a person's behaviors like you knew your own breath. And with Faye, there were a lot of things to know.

She seemed averse to stillness outside of a hunt. More often than not, it was movement for the sake of movement. Unbraiding and re-braiding her hair. Adjusting ties on her clothing. Touching any soft surfaces nearby. Twirling sticks and leaves blades of grass in her fingers as she spoke. That, he grew used to. It was specific movements that caught his attention.

She bit her nails and the skin around them when she was nervous. Sometimes she made herself bleed. He would never think to stop her normally, but for those days, he made an exception. He held her hands and listened to her talk until her nerves faded. 

When there was something on her mind, she turned to her bracelet. It was silver, braided along most of its length, with what looked to be two stylized wolf heads at either end of the space where her wrist would go. She never said, but he suspected it was a family heirloom. Whenever he saw her run her fingers along its length, slide it up and down her wrist, or take it on and off entirely, he knew it was time to ask what was wrong.

And whenever she was happy, she was vibrant--barely able to sit still, bouncing slightly in place. It made hiding surprises nearly impossible. Kratos still remembered the night she gave him the shield, how her footsteps practically had her gliding down the path to the spot where they met. She had been trying to hide a smile, but he could tell from the start that she'd had _something_ planned. Her joy was...infectious. Almost intoxicating.

If she had been gliding before, she almost flew when he asked for her hand.

It was one memory that would bring him joy for the rest of his life.

* * *

"Someone put coals in your shoes?"

"What?"

"You're _bouncing_. Good thing the head's not dangling near _your_ ass or he'd be getting sick."

"Oh." Atreus stopped his bouncing. It didn't take him long to start up again, though it was more subdued this time. "We're going back to Alfheim today."

"The fuck are you going back there for?" Brok asked skeptically. "Didn't get enough of the place after last time?"

"We didn't get to _see_ all of it last time. I kind of wanted to see…" Atreus's bouncing stilled, then started up again. "How things were going. With the war and all. And if it's cold there, too."

Brok snorted. "Probably got started up again while you weren't looking. But have fun doing whatever the fuck it is you're gonna do there."

Any other day, Kratos would have refused to go back. They had no real business there, outside of satisfying idle curiosity. But…

He had almost missed the date. The cold had lasted through spring, summer, fall, making the seasons feel very much the same; had it not been for Atreus and Mimir meticulously keeping track of the passing days…

Faye had passed almost a year ago.

A part of him knew, even before Mimir had quietly pointed it out to him. A hollow feeling had started sinking into his bones as the weeks passed. He wasn't sure if Atreus felt it too--if his son did, he hadn't let on.

Kratos wasn't sure he was ready to relive that day just yet. So, instead, he had promised Atreus something he knew the boy would be excited by. A distraction, until Kratos thought of some way to mark the occasion without breaking.

Hopefully, it would not be a decision he regretted later.

"You need anything before you leave?" Brok was addressing him now, as Atreus had moved on to speaking to Sindri.

"Only whatever maintenance the axe needs."

Brok nodded and carefully picked up the Leviathan. As he examined it, he asked quietly, "He holding up okay?"

He must have worked it out. "He is...well, I think." When Kratos glanced Atreus's way, his son was still eagerly speaking to Sindri, as though nothing were wrong. "He has not indicated otherwise."

"You might wanna ask him. Sometimes you don't know what's eating a man up until it's too late." Brok sounded genuine, then...regretful. " _You_ holding up okay?"

"...for now."

Brok grunted in response, then passed back the axe. "She looks all right. You take good care of her."

Kratos took the axe back carefully. "Is that a compliment, dwarf?" he asked.

"Don't let it go to your head, you big lump," Brok scoffed.

That was almost a pleasant conversation. Kratos didn't know Brok had it in him. (He didn't know _he_ still had it in him.)

"Boy. We should go."

"Okay!" Atreus said his goodbyes to Sindri and ran over. He had something clasped in his hand. "I'm ready."

It had been some time since they had used the Bifrost. The trip went smoothly--more smoothly than Kratos expected. He had been bracing himself for the Aesir to show themselves; using the Bifrost felt like asking for trouble. But they arrived in Alfheim with no difficulties, and for that he was grateful.

"The light still looks bright," Atreus noted. He kept fiddling with whatever was in his hands. "That's...good? Maybe?"

"We'll see."

It wasn't until they found a boat and took to the lakes that Kratos saw what Atreus was holding. It was a string of beads, some with runes engraved on them, some with what looked to be animals. He kept spinning the beads between his fingers. "Did Sindri give you those?" Kratos asked.

"Oh! Yeah, he found them somewhere...he said they looked like giant make, so I should have them."

"Let me take a look?" Mimir asked. Atreus held the beads up to his line of sight. "Oh, yes, I've seen those before. The runic is used to make jewelry like your tattoos, blessings and such. And I believe those two are your friends…"

"Sköll and Hati!" Atreus beamed. "I knew it." He cradled the beads carefully. "Mother didn't have any like this, did she?"

The unexpected mention of Faye made Kratos's chest ache, but he pushed through it. "Not that I knew of. She wasn't fond of jewelry, aside from her bracelet."

The bracelet had gone with her on the pyre. It was what she wanted, but a part of Kratos wished he had kept it. To have something else of her.

Kratos shook the thought away. She had left him something. The axe on his back. Their _son_ , who had gone quiet and contemplative as he continued to play with the beads.

"Which way should we go?" Kratos asked.

The question jarred Atreus out of his thoughts. He was eager to pick their destinations, pointing out places they had missed their first trip. Kratos would be lying if he said he wasn't on edge. While it was much calmer than it had been the first time, he could still taste blood in the air. If the war hadn't started again already, it would soon. 

He didn't point that out. Atreus didn't need to hear that today.

They explored, they _somehow_ stayed out of trouble, and they returned home safely. The string of beads, while still somewhat painful to see, had an unintended side effect of giving Atreus something to do with his hands. It kept him from leaning out of the boat so much--seemed to keep him focused, too.

_I may owe Sindri some thanks._

Kratos wasn't sure he was any closer to being ready for the anniversary of Faye's death than he had been when they left, but Atreus was still in good spirits. That made the day something of a success.

Or that was what he thought at first.

Kratos was still learning his son's moods and mannerisms. He was ashamed to admit he didn't know them as well as Faye's, or as he once had known Calliope's, but he was trying. There was one mannerism of his that Kratos recognized instantly; the way he would hide under multiple blankets and furs. Not for warmth, but for the weight. It was something he had mostly done when he was ill, so when he bundled under his blankets that night, Kratos was concerned. He couldn't hear any roughness in his son's breath, but since Atreus was facing the wall, it was hard to tell if he was starting to look feverish.

"Are you well?" Kratos asked.

"...yeah."

There was something in Atreus's voice--not the weight of his illness, but a different weight. Kratos's hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. _Do something._ **_Do_ ** _something._

He moved carefully from his bed to Atreus's, sitting carefully on the edge. The proximity let him hear the clinking of the beads, turning over and over, as a silver bracelet once had. Atreus peered out from under the blankets and looked away just as quickly. His eyes had started to go pink, bloodshot--not crying yet, but close.

"...I just wish Mom could've...seen all of it. She only saw Jotenheim and Midgard and we've seen so much…" He sniffed; the next words were barely audible. "It's...it's not fair."

Kratos rested a hand on Atreus's shoulder. He felt so small underneath all the blankets. "Death rarely is."

Atreus hesitated, before reaching out from underneath the blankets to grab Kratos's hands. "She...she talked about how the people who die don't really leave...that they stay with you, and...sometimes it feels like she's out there somewhere, but…" The first sob cut off the sentence; he had to force it out between tears. "...but sometimes I can't feel her anymore…it's like she's _gone..._ "

Kratos didn't know what to say. His eyes darted around the space, trying desperately to find the words to _fix_ this. He found nothing...even Mimir, perched where he usually was on the shelf, looked at a loss for words.

Of course he was. He hadn't known Faye. He had only known of Laufey the Just in whispers. The bane of Asgard. An enigma. He hadn't lost anyone, not the way they had.

_What would she do if she were here?_

Kratos leaned over until his forehead was resting against Atreus's temple. The boy was clutching the beads so tightly, Kratos thought they might shatter. "I miss her, too," he said.

It was all he could think to say, and he was sure it wasn't enough. But it was genuine. He just hoped Atreus knew that.

Eventually, his son's tears slowed. His grip on the beads loosened, and his fingers resumed spinning them. As if the motion could soothe his pain. As if it could bring Faye back.

Kratos held his son, and watched the image of Sköll chase the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me going into this chapter: Ah yes just some casual headcanons about fidgeting, should be easy.  
> My brain actually putting words to page: MAKE IT DEPRESSING


	8. accident prone

Faye had her share of scars. They were, aside from the lightning strike scar that stretched across one shoulder and down her arm, all very mundane. Uneven skin on her knees, elbows. The remnants of welts and scrapes on one arm. A cut on her chin. Another one on her nose. Kratos had seen similar injuries and scars during his days in the agōge. He had been similarly injured himself, though his father's blood kept him from carrying them permanently as she did. He had always assumed hers had a similar cause: that she had a difficult life, full of dangers and combat and chances to be hurt.

Faye had a different explanation.

"Ah, don't panic…"

Kratos froze. She had answered the door with blood streaming down her face from her nose. She didn't seem to be in pain, but she _did_ look embarrassed. "Who did this?" Kratos asked.

"Oh, no one, for once. I was... _stupid_ , careless with a basket, spilled my mushrooms…" She stood aside to let him in. "I was just trying to stop the bleeding."

"Pinch it…"

"I know, I know." She sat back down by the fire and leaned forward slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "My clumsiness is going to kill me one day."

Kratos sat next to her, a confused frown forming on his face. "Does this...happen often?" he asked. She had never seemed clumsy to _him_. She was graceful in the forest, a powerful warrior...then again, he wasn't around her all the time.

"Sometimes. I forget to be careful, but only in ways that make me look completely stupid." She let go of her nose and wiped some of the blood off her face. "I'd feel better about it if I _had_ been punched."

Kratos examined her face. "It doesn't seem broken," he said.

"That's a shame. I was hoping it had broken back to normal."

"There's nothing wrong with your nose."

"It's crooked and you know it."

"Well, I like your nose. Crooked or not."

He barely held back a grimace. _I like your nose?_ _You can do better than that…_

Kratos was surprised to see Faye look genuinely touched by the comment. "...thanks," she said. "That's...very sweet of you."

It seemed his verbal clumsiness had paid off. That was a surprise. Still, he would have to do better in the future. He _had_ successfully courted a woman once. He had been different then, to be sure, but he still had it in him.

He _hoped_ he still had it in him.

* * *

Kratos tried not to believe in fate.

But between Faye's own tendencies and the fact that their son's namesake had himself been prone to careless accidents, Kratos had to accept...he should have seen this coming.

The quick, startled yelp was his only warning. Kratos _barely_ made it in time to grab Atreus's arm and keep him from falling down the whole damn mountain. " _Careful_ ," Kratos scolded as he pulled Atreus back onto the path.

"I know, I know." Atreus sounded embarrassed, defensive. "It's _icy_."

"The ice wouldn't be a problem if you slowed down."

"You said to scout ahead."

"And I said to be careful. You must…"

" _Be mindful of your surroundings_ , I know." Atreus huffed quietly. "I'll be more careful."

"See that you do."

He let Atreus go on ahead, but watched with concern.

Atreus was still prone to rushing ahead, acting without thinking. Sometimes he got hurt. Falls, scrapes, the odd cut if he wasn't careful enough with his knife or an arrowhead. Some of it was usual for a boy his age...or Kratos assumed so, at least. He had never raised a son, and at Atreus's age, he had been... _different._

It was a relief, sometimes, but it left him at a loss.

He had tried for discipline, but even when he tempered it with all the patience he could muster, it felt like he was doing something wrong. Reprimands never seemed to fix the actual problem. If it were just odd falls and cuts...if he had been a _normal_ child…

But Atreus was not a normal child, and lack of discipline in one area could lead to a lack of it in others. He _had_ to learn to think, or the blood he spilled wouldn't only be his own.

That was what Kratos feared, at least. And yet…

_It's not that bad. Look, the bleeding's already stopped._

He had come home once to find Atreus in complete disarray, leaves in his hair, shirt torn, one of the cuts on his face re-opened. Faye was tending to his injuries as if nothing were wrong, as if the crimson blood were only a bit of dirt.

 _You had the right idea, litli hvolpurinn minn._ _I just think you're a bit too big for those branches._ She'd brushed the leaves and dirt out of his hair and kissed his forehead. _Try to stay on the bigger ones next time, all right?_

She had always been so calm when Atreus hurt himself, or broke something. Her corrections were rarely more than gentle reminders to be more careful or advice on how not to get hurt next time. _He's a child,_ she'd reminded Kratos, during one of their very few arguments about raising the boy. _He's bound to get hurt. I_ **_still_ ** _get hurt, and you don't tell_ **_me_ ** _I'm undisciplined._

Because you're not like me, he'd wanted to say. You're not like _him_.

But Kratos had left the matter alone at the time, because Faye knew the boy better than him, because he hadn't wanted to fight, because their hushed conversation had started to rouse Atreus from sleep he desperately needed.

He wished he'd told her. Wished he'd said _anything_ about his fears. He was the only father in the whole of existence who _didn't_ want his son to be like him, and the one woman who could have told him…

"You all right, brother?"

Mimir was very perceptive for someone who couldn't see Kratos's face most of the time. "Hm." Kratos slowed, considered his words. Mimir knew the boy well by now...perhaps…

There was another startled yelp up the path. Kratos didn't even have time to sigh resignedly before he took off.

Atreus was back on the path by the time he arrived, but from the dirt on his clothes and the blood dripping from the palm of his hand to his wrist, he _had_ fallen. "I'm okay," he said immediately. He moved his hand, trying to hide the injury. "I just tripped."

Kratos could have let it be. It was clear Atreus had learned the lesson on his own. But…

"Atreus." Kratos knelt down to his son's level. "Let me see your hand."

Atreus hesitated before holding out the hand. He'd likely cut himself on a sharp rock--the wound wasn't deep, but it could grow infected if he wasn't careful. Kratos carefully unclipped his water skin and used it to clean the wound.

The boy's hand was still so small in comparison to his. The blood was a stark contrast against his fair skin, the thin blue veins on his hands and wrists. Atreus was no longer ill, and growing stronger every day, but it was difficult not to look at him and see the impossibly small infant Kratos had first held all those years ago. The frail child coughing with such force it tore his skin.

"It doesn't really hurt," Atreus said.

"Still." He had started carrying bandages on him as their excursions grew more frequent. He made sure the injury was dried and wrapped. "You should avoid infection. You won't grow your hand back if you lose it."

"...you don't know for _sure_ , though."

When Kratos glanced up, Atreus was trying to smile--trying to make a joke. "No god I know has ever re-grown limbs and I would prefer if you didn't risk it. But I don't know for sure." Kratos checked the bandage one last time before standing. "Go on. And be sure to keep that dry."

"Yes, sir."

Atreus kept moving. Kratos watched him go. It wasn't until he glanced down that he noticed some of his son's blood still sticking to his fingers.

"Ah, I miss being that young," Mimir said wistfully. "Fearless, still spry…"

"He'll get himself killed, or worse," Kratos said quietly as he wiped the blood away.

"You don't know that. He's resilient. They all are at that age."

_Calliope was eight. How am I supposed to know?_

Kratos stopped and breathed deeply, waiting until the thought dissolved.

Even then, he kept checking his hands to make sure the blood was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of those Faye scars is going to be explained later in this fic, others will be discussed when I eventually get around to putting all my Faye headcanons to page, also shout out to another person on AO3 (cannot remember the name of the fic for the life of me!!! but you know who you are) who headcanoned Faye having a lighting scar. I saw that in your fic and had a "same hat" moment.
> 
> litli hvolpurinn minn = my little pup (just hammering in that wolf imagery because I can, also because I was low-key a wolf girl as a teen, don't @ me)
> 
> Also the agōge is where young Spartan boys were brought up from the age of *checks notes* seven to be warriors, and yes it WAS societally acceptable child abuse, which explains SO MUCH about Kratos as a person.


	9. emotional dysregulation & meltdowns

He couldn't remember what they were arguing about. It was inconsequential in hindsight, less so in the moment. What he remembered most was losing his patience. 

Losing his patience _and_ raising his voice.

Faye did not shrink away. She set her jaw and straightened up, but seemed to change her mind at the last second. "I need a minute," she said. "I'm going out back. We can talk about this later."

She left the house without another word.

Kratos watched her go. He took a deep breath.

His frustration and anger faded, suddenly replaced by shame.

He had raised his voice, come dangerously close to losing his temper. He would never hurt her, he had always told himself that, but…

He started pacing, as if that would somehow let him shake the feeling of dread. Had he frightened her? What did she think of him now? She had seen his rage before, but only in battle, and _never_ directed at her.

 _I told myself I'd do better, I_ **_swore_ ** _I'd do better…_

He sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into his forearms. _Did you really think it would be that easy, Spartan?_ whispered a voice in his head, honeyed female tones he wanted _desperately_ to forget. _Did you think you could leave behind who you are?_ **_What_ ** _you are?_

" _Stop_ ," he growled.

_You knew she'd see the truth one day. Why are you so surprised?_

Kratos stood up and walked out of the house. He kept walking. He wasn't sure where he was going, but hoped the movement would keep that cursed voice at bay. He tried to think of what to say to her. How to resolve this. He even considered what he'd do if he couldn't, but put the thought aside quickly.

Eventually, Kratos forced himself to turn around and go back to the house. Faye was sitting out front on the chopping block, watching the forest with keen eyes. She looked strangely tired. He braced himself for... _something_. He wasn't sure what reaction to expect. He only knew that it wasn't Faye meeting him halfway across the yard, holding out a hand to him. "Hey…"

Kratos took her hand hesitantly. She grasped it tightly, carefully bringing it to her lips for a kiss. "I'm listening now," she said. "I wasn't trying to avoid the conversation, I promise. Are _you_ all right?"

_...what?_

"I…" Her touch almost burned, but he couldn't pull away. "...I was... I yelled at _you_." Why was she asking about him? "I shouldn't have done that...Faye, if I frightened you..."

Faye shook her head immediately. "No, no, it's not that. I didn't want to say something in anger and I was... _very_ close. I needed to step away or I would've escalated." She kissed his hand again. "I think we both did."

He didn't know what to say. Relief and confusion still warred with him, the battle only heightened by fear. He tried to breathe through it. He let himself step closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he said shakily.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay."

If the argument was resolved, he didn't recall how. He was _sure_ it was, but his memories of that afternoon were thickly colored by shame and dread. He still felt like the eyes of Athena were watching him, mocking him from the shadows without saying a word. 

"Fárbauti?"

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of her voice. They had gone to bed by then, but it seemed sleep was evading them both that night. "You're here with me, right?" Faye asked quietly.

"I'm here." For the most part. She moved closer to him, taking his hand in the dark . He held it carefully. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I couldn't sleep." She moved his hand up to her face, until his fingers brushed against the scar on her nose. "Did I ever tell you how I got this?"

"I don't think so."

"I got into fights a lot when I was younger. I was standing up for people, that's what I _told_ myself, but really, after my family…" She gripped his hand tightly at the mention of her family. "I just...I wanted _someone_ to pay for what had happened. I couldn't get the man who did it, so I took it out on other people. I picked a fight with someone bigger than me one day, and don't get me wrong. He was an absolute ass. He had it coming. But he was also bigger than me, and…well." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I won, for whatever that's worth, but he made me work for it. Made sure my face wasn't the same when it was done."

Kratos couldn't picture it. He had never seen Faye lose control. He was sure she was capable of anger, but…not like that. Not like _him_.

"That was when I realized it wasn't working. I was still angry, and I wasn't going to stop being angry by fighting everyone I didn't like. I learned how to control myself. It took a lot of effort. It still takes a lot of effort, and sometimes I need to step back from things, for _me_. I know what being angry is like, and...if you ever need to step away, I'll understand. You don't have to be afraid to tell me that." She kissed his shoulder gently. "You're trying. We both are. Yeah? That's what matters."

Kratos nodded.

His hand still shook.

"I'd never hurt you," he whispered. "I'd never…"

But could he promise her that? After Lysandra…

He wanted to be away from her. Wanted to be close to her. Couldn't move. She had to make the decision for him by pulling him into an embrace. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Stay here with me."

Kratos buried her face in her shoulder and breathed.

He let himself unravel, just for a moment.

* * *

"You lost control."

Atreus's boot hit the wall on the other side of the room. He said nothing.

Blood soaked the leather of his boots, the front of his clothes, his face. Kratos wanted to wipe it away, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He felt dangerously close to losing control himself.

They had been ambushed by wulvers. He had been struggling with one, trying to keep its snapping jaws away from his neck, when he heard Atreus's scream. The boy had jumped onto the wulver's back, dragging it to the ground. Kratos would have stepped in to stop the boy if it hadn't been for the other wulvers. By the time he was able to get away, Atreus had already killed two. The first had its neck snapped, its head crushed. He was still stabbing the second one when Kratos dragged him off.

His fever did not return. He did not dissolve into a coughing fit, his body trembling as if it were trying to tear itself apart. That was both a comfort and a source of terror. His son was no longer ill, but...perverse as it was, now he had nothing stopping him from giving in to his rage.

"You _lost control_. Atreus…" A second boot joined its counterpart on the other side of the home. "...we've discussed this."

Atreus fixed his gaze on Kratos. The boy's eyes had been blank, almost confused, most of the walk back to the house. Now, they were angry again. "I _saved you_ ," Atreus pointed out.

"I had it…"

"I _saved you_ ," Atreus repeated. He stood back up, shoulders squared. The blood filled in the scars on his face, exaggerating their shape, forming an outline that made Kratos's stomach turn. "Do you want me to let you get hurt?!"

"I _want_ you to think. You cannot let your rage control you in battle."

"I _didn't!_ "

Kratos stepped forward and grabbed Atreus's wrist, forcing him to look at the blood coating it. " _This_ is not control. You were too ruthless...'"

Atreus yanked his hand away. " _Fine_ , I'll just let you _die next time_ …"

"That's not what…"

"Then _what was I supposed to do?!_ " Atreus was screaming now, both his hands clenched into fists. "I couldn't let you die, I couldn't _help_ without getting angry, **_what was I supposed to do?!_ **"

The rage was sparking in his eyes again. Kratos knelt down and tried to take Atreus's shoulder. "Atreus. _Calm down_."

Atreus pulled away again. "You always do this! No matter what I do, I've done something wrong, and you don't even help, you just... _boss me around…!_ "

" _Boy._ "

" _I didn't_ **_do anything wrong….!_ **"

Kratos made one last effort to grab his son. Atreus reacted before he could, shoving Kratos back hard enough to make him lose his balance. Before he had time to recover, Atreus was running for the door, still barefoot, still covered in blood.

" _Atreus!_ "

By the time Kratos reached the door, Atreus was across the yard and disappearing into the woods, a streak of crimson among the cold dead trees.

He should have gone after him. But something kept Kratos frozen in the doorway, just _watching_.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"...I don't suppose you could use the services of a world-class negotiator?" said a voice behind him.

Mimir. Of _course_ . They'd left the head behind, on his shelf, as usual, where he could hear _every word they said._ "No," Kratos growled.

But once _he_ stopped, took a breath, calmed himself...he had to admit, Mimir's presence could be helpful. Atreus trusted him, respected his opinion. Perhaps…

Kratos growled again, turned around, and grabbed Mimir off the shelf. Mimir, to his credit, did not gloat or comment further.

The snow had started to fall thickly outside. The footprints Atreus left behind, slight as they were, were already being covered by the snowfall. It wasn't long before Kratos had lost his son's path already. Frustration quickly gave way to panic. There may have been fewer Hel Walkers since they freed the Valkyries, but the draugr were still a persistent danger...and if it weren't the draugr, it would be the wolves, ogres, maybe a troll…

"Brother, I think we're going in circles."

Kratos stopped. Mimir was right. They'd already been this way. He could make out his own footprints, half-filled with snow. "...where would he go?" Kratos asked. "Do you know?"

"He has a few hiding places I know of, aye."

"Where?"

"Closest one is near the river. Bit of a cave. Ah, Northeast, I think?"

Kratos knew the location. He started walking, still keeping an eye out for any sign of Atreus as he went. "For what it's worth, I doubt he would have gone far," Mimir said. "Think he just needs a moment to clear his head. He seemed a bit frazzled when you brought him in."

Kratos's jaw clenched. _Frazzled_ was not the word he would have used to describe it...but now that the head mentioned it…

There were still bloody smears on his hand and wrist-- _handprints_ , from where Atreus had clung to him after he'd dragged him off the second wulver. _Are you okay?_ Those had been the first words from him. HIs tone had not been tinged with rage or malice, but....

Fear. He'd been _terrified._ And all Kratos had seen was the blood. He hadn't even answered the question, only pulled Atreus to his feet and told him they were going home.

And of course, he only realized this in _hindsight_.

"If you don't mind my saying so," Mimir interjected, "I think it might not be a bad idea to figure out what you're going to say to him in advance. It just seemed like the conversation you were having wasn't very... _productive._ "

Kratos growled quietly. "That is _none of your concern_."

Mimir's exasperated huff caught Kratos off-guard. " _Respectfully_ , you stubborn nob, it became my concern when you took me into your home." Despite the insult and the clear frustration, the head's voice softened. "You're not the only one who feels responsible for the boy and you don't have to do this alone."

Kratos slowed. Stopped. Took a deep breath.

Mimir was right. Again.

"...I don't know what to do," he said finally.

Admitting that pained him. It made him feel like a failure. But it was the truth. He didn't know what to do and he hadn't known what to do for a long time. And now his son was in the woods somewhere, and he didn't say he could say to make it right.

"You're worried for him," Mimir said. "I understand that. You don't want him to make the same mistakes you did. I don't think any parent does. But it feels to me, _respectfully_ , like you're so caught up in treating him like a little version of yourself that you don't see what _he_ needs."

"I don't…" Kratos cut himself off. It wasn't true. He _knew_ it wasn't true. "...know any other way," he said instead, because that _was_ true.

"What'd Faye do when he got like this?"

"...I don't know."

He was bracing himself for Mimir to point out the obvious--that he was a terrible father, unfit, uninvolved, that he should have _known this_. He was _supposed to know._ He had known with Calliope, why didn't he know with Atreus?

"Have you tried asking _him_?" Mimir asked instead. "I can't promise that will fix everything, but it'll be a step in the right direction."

It sounded _easy_ when it said it like that, but Kratos knew better. "I don't know if he'll speak to me."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Let me look ahead?" Kratos unclipped Mimir to give him a clearer view of the path. "It's right through that tree line. You'll see the top of the cave once you're through."

Kratos was, at first, intent on going ahead right to his son. That resolve died when he saw the roof of the cave, just as Mimir had promised. He thought he could hear something--a faint voice, quietly pleading in a way he only heard after nightfall, when Atreus thought he couldn't hear.

"...boy?" Kratos called hesitantly.

The whispering stopped. That was all the confirmation Kratos needed, both that his son _was_ there, and that he didn't want to talk. Kratos looked at Mimir questioningly. _Now what?_

"...Atreus, it's Mimir," Mimir called. "I know you're not exactly keen on talking to your Da right now, but do you think we could talk?"

When Atreus spoke, he sounded like he'd been crying. "Yeah, I guess so."

"All right. He's going to leave me at the top of the entrance, yeah? So we can talk privately."

Kratos wasn't sure he liked that, but he did as Mimir suggested. He fought the urge to peer into the cave, to check on his son, instead leaving Mimir on the ledge within reach of the cave's entrance and backing away. "He's gone, lad. Just us."

After another pause, Atreus peered over the ledge. His eyes briefly met Kratos's--rimmed pink, still brimming with tears--before he looked away, grabbed Mimir, and disappeared back into the cave.

It took more effort not to eavesdrop. He couldn't betray his son's trust, not after the argument they'd had. He kept pacing back and forth a safe distance away, waiting for... _what_ , exactly, he wasn't sure. His gut expected further rejection, but he wanted reconciliation, _desperately._

It was a relief when he turned to see Atreus standing out in the open, carefully holding Mimir, not making eye contact but _present_. "He cut his foot a bit, but it's nothing serious," Mimir said. "We're all right, right?"

"...yeah," Atreus said wearily. "Just kind of stings."

Kratos nodded and moved forward slowly. The boy glanced up at him as if expecting a reprimand, but didn't move away. "You shouldn't walk on it," Kratos said quietly. "Here."

Atreus allowed Kratos to take Mimir and clip him back on the belt. He rode home on Kratos's shoulders, his head resting against his shoulder. He let Kratos clean and bind his foot, then clean what was left of the blood off his face. Once Atreus was out of his bloody clothes and in something clean, he lay down in bed, burrowing himself into the blankets and furs. "Am I in trouble?" he asked.

Kratos thought of the bloody handprints on his wrist. "No," he said. "We'll discuss this further tomorrow. Rest for now."

"Okay."

It was silent in the home for so long that Kratos thought the boy had fallen asleep. Just as he was considering going to sleep himself…

"Sorry I pushed you," Atreus said quietly. "And said I'd let the wulvers kill you."

Kratos nodded. "I forgive you," he said. "I'm...sorry as well. For not listening. I will tomorrow. I promise."

There was no response at first. Kratos hadn't expected one--as much as it pained him, he knew he wasn't owed forgiveness, and he could only imagine how deeply he'd wounded his son. It was a surprise, then, when he heard footsteps. Atreus approached, head down, body language wary. When he wasn't met with a reprimand, he pulled himself up onto the bed, curled up next to Kratos, and tightly clutched his hand.

He didn't say a word, but it felt like forgiveness.

Kratos waited until he was sure the boy was asleep before he pulled his hand away and moved Atreus back to his own bed. He should have rested himself, but instead he sat at Atreus's bedside and watched him sleep.

He didn't know how the next day's conversation would go. He wanted to enjoy the peace while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faye: I developed coping mechanisms that help me control my negative emotions, it's hard work but it's definitely improved my outlook on things  
> Kratos: Cool, I mostly just stamp down my feelings and beat myself up whenever I make a mistake  
> Faye: ...  
> Kratos: is that not...coping  
> Faye: ...babe


	10. coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for brief suicidal ideation (in a paragraph marked off with *** at the beginning), panic attacks, and injury description for Kratos's chain scars. All of this is in the flashbacks section, so you can skip ahead to the Atreus section if you're not in a good place for that.

Kratos had been far worse off when he first met Faye; better than he had been when he left Greece in some ways, but just as bad in others. He’d quickly realized how much he'd forgotten about interacting with other people. He had gone from a life of violence to a life of near total isolation in a land where he didn't know the customs and barely spoke the language. And as if that weren't bad enough, the ghosts of his past had followed him. No matter how far he ran, they were always there, etched into his skin by ash and ink and scar tissue.

He did everything he could to keep them at bay, but sometimes there was nothing he could do.

" _Breathe_ ," said the female voice off to his right.

***He was breathing, but too quickly. Every inhale and exhale felt like it was going to shake his body apart. The chain-shaped burns on his arms had started weeping again, a sickly mixture of blood and some other clear fluid. It stuck to his fingers as he clutched at his forearms. The wounds refused to heal fully; they would scab over and re-open, coming and going with the rage, or the nightmare, or the moments of deep despondence when he hoped they would open deeper and finally let him _rest._ Even if he knew it wouldn't be that simple--even if he'd already been to the deepest depths of Hades and back, more times than any one man should--a part of him wanted to believe it would be. That there was some way to make this all _stop_ …

"Fárbauti, look at me."

The strangeness of the name she'd given him was enough to get his attention. Kratos carefully turned to face her. Faye sat a safe distance away, her face remarkably calm for the amount of blood seeping from between his fingers. "You're all right. You're safe, see? We're inside the staves. Nothing's coming through without me knowing."

They were, that was true. He recognized the fence around her garden. He didn't know when he'd arrived there, or how long he'd been sitting in the cold and the snow. How long she'd been sitting with him, waiting for him to come back to himself.

"I'm going to ask you to do something, and it's going to sound a bit mad but I think it will help. Watch the snow, all right? Just watch that...and try to breathe slowly. Don't think about anything else. Just focus on the snow."

She was right. It did sound a bit mad. But she seemed so sure, and the part of him that was still present in the dirt and the cold was willing to try anything. He took a second to close his eyes first, to try and slow his breathing, not opening them until it wasn't so ragged and painful. When it finally was, he opened them. He watched the snow.

They had snow in Greece--more rarely in Sparta, but he _had_ seen it before travelling North. But something about the snow here was different. It felt _heavier,_ somehow. Even when it was in the air, it muffled all sound, obscuring the landscape in a haze of thick flakes, all falling with purpose. He could feel them resting on his skin, melting near-instantly.

They seemed to linger longer on Faye. When his slow scan of the surroundings drifted to her, he saw them clinging to her hair, her eyelashes, sticking to her slightly off-center nose and cheekbones, obscuring the freckles underneath. She looked almost ghostlike herself at first glance, but as his mind finally stopped racing and his breathing slowed, she looked more solid and real with every glance.

Eventually, she was all he could look at.

"You back with me?" Faye asked quietly.

Kratos hummed quietly. He may have calmed, but he wasn't sure he was ready to speak yet.

"Good." Faye stood and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's get you inside and re-bandage those."

That image of her standing in the snow, tall and strong, holding out her hand to him, stayed in his mind. For a long time, it was the first image that came to mind when he thought of her. She knew this place better than he did--the land, the language, the customs. She navigated her life with confidence. Whatever flaws she had, she managed then well. He had always admired that about her, even envied her for it.

It felt, sometimes, like she was the only thing holding him upright--like she was the stability in the relationship. No matter how many times she said she appreciated what he did for her, he couldn't see what she saw.

Then came Atreus.

Realizing she was pregnant had been terrifying at first; even Faye, for all her excitement, was nervous. It seemed both their losses came back to haunt them--his first family, her lost loved ones. The mother who would never be able to give her advice. A father who wouldn't get to know his grandchild, brothers and sisters who wouldn't have the chance to meet their niece or nephew. Kratos knew it weighed on her, but she seemed to carry the weight gracefully. He was sure enough in her that he felt comfortable-- _mostly_ comfortable--leaving her alone for a few days while he tracked a troll they'd spotted too close to the woods for comfort and made sure it _was_ just passing through.

Faye was despondent when he came home.

She tried to hide it, but Kratos knew her moods, and he _knew_ this wasn't like her. Lysandra had her own share of mood swings during her pregnancy, but this felt like something else. Something had shifted while he was away; he just didn't know _what._

He tried not to dwell on _what ifs_ and _maybes_ too much, instead focusing on helping her where she could. Helping with chores she could no longer do, due to physical limitations or her mind wandering more than usual. With keeping her occupied when she was restless but unable to go for a long walk or a hunt. He did everything he could think to do.

But when he came home one day to find her sobbing in the back gardens, he froze.

Kratos approached her carefully. She was holding one arm, the arm with the lightning scar. He knew it still pained her sometimes. He sat next to her in the dirt. "Faye…?"

She flinched, not seeming to realize at first that it was him. Kratos waited until he saw recognition in her eyes before he reached out again. "I'm sorry," she said. She took his hand, held it tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Faye kept one hand on her stomach; he couldn't tell if she was apologizing to him or their child. He didn't even know _why._ He only knew that she was lost in whatever was tormenting her, beyond his reach.

The situation felt familiar.

Snow had started to fall--lightly at first, but with the promise of more to come. "Faye," he said quietly. "It's snowing...slow your breathing. Watch the snow."

If it had worked for him, it must have worked for her once. Maybe it would again.

It happened slowly, surely. First the crying ceased, then her breathing slowed. She kept watching the snowfall, the darting motion of her eyes calming as her grip on his hand loosened. The snow clung to her hair and melted in the tracks her tears left behind.

"...are you with me?"

Faye nodded and tried to wipe away what was left of her tears. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

She still sounded pained, but it was a start, at least. "We should go inside," Kratos said. Her hand was so cold, even after clinging to his for so long. "You've been outside too long."

Faye was, for a while, silent, and Kratos didn't push the matter. He didn't want to force her to talk before she was ready. When she finally did, it was unprompted, as she watched him tidy up around the house. "What if I can't protect him?" she asked. One hand stayed pressed over her stomach, as if shielding their child from some unseen danger. "The world is... _so_ cruel, and I don't know if I can…"

His heart sank at her words. Kratos had worried about the same thing from the second he realized she was with child. He had kept his concerns to himself, not wanting to diminish her excitement at their becoming a family of three, but to hear _her_ say it made those dangers feel more real. More terrifying.

… _no._ No, he could not give into fear. Not now.

Kratos squared his shoulders and breathed slowly. "We will. Faye." He knelt in front of her and held both her hands. "We _will_ protect him. I swear it."

Faye squeezed his hands tightly. After a moment, she smiled. "...just the two of us against the world," she said. She lifted one of his hands and kissed it. "Poor world."

She was still quiet the rest of the evening, but did seem to be in better spirits. As for Kratos, his resolve was only strengthened. No harm would come to their child. He would see to that.

They _both_ would.

* * *

It was still dark the next morning when he opened his eyes. Atreus was curled up at his side. Kratos expected Faye to be there as well…thought to himself that he _had_ to talk to her about making sure the boy slept in his own bed, because ill or not, he wasn’t going to be a child forever…

But Faye wasn’t there.

The weight of the loss sank into his chest. Kratos closed his eyes. Breathed slowly. Pushed through.

He could mourn forever, or he could focus on repairing the relationship with his son. He knew what Faye would want.

Kratos moved carefully, trying not to wake Atreus before the boy was ready. Looking out the window confirmed his suspicions: the sun was rising, somewhere, but it was going to be an overcast day again. Somber, as if all of Midgard was mourning with him.

"Are you leaving?"

Atreus's voice was silent, almost inaudible. Kratos turned to see his son peering out from the blankets. His eyes were alert--perhaps he had not been sleeping as Kratos thought. "I am not." _I've spent too much time away from you as it is._ "Does your foot pain you…?"

"Not really." Atreus sat up slowly. He looked briefly lost, as if surprised to find himself still in the larger bed. "It itches."

“Here. Let me look.” Kratos walked back to his son’s side. The bandages were stained with blood, but when he removed them, Kratos found the injury had mostly healed. Atreus, for all his childhood illness, had always healed quickly, and more so now that he knew the truth. “The itching will fade.” He still replaced the bandage, mostly to make sure the injury stayed clean.

Atreus flexed his toes experimentally. “At least it’s not as bad as the last time,” he said.

 _When did you develop such a grim sense of humor?_ Kratos wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “That’s true.” He thought of the scar on his son’s arm, the blood coating his sleeve from the draugr’s broken blade. That had been the moment when Faye had _finally_ told him off; as much as she later admitted some of that was her projecting her own guilt over not having watched him more closely, she had been right. And Kratos had tried, or he had started to, until Faye had fallen ill. That had re-widened the rift almost immediately.

Was that to be their fate? To never fully be a _family_ , to constantly be struggling against the next disagreement, like Sisyphus still struggling in Hades?

 _No._ No he wouldn’t allow it. He had impressed on Atreus the importance of doing better; he had to be an example of that.

Breakfast first, though. He wasn’t sure the boy would be able to handle a serious conversation on an empty stomach. He wasn’t sure _he_ would be able to handle it on an empty stomach.

Kratos noticed, of course, that Atreus seemed wary as the food was prepared and divided between the two of them. He tried to mask it by talking to Mimir, acting as if nothing was wrong, but Kratos was adept at sensing potential conflict. A lingering “gift” from his position in Olympus, he was sure.

 _Not this time. Not today_.

“We still need to talk about last night,” Kratos said once they were done eating, “if you are able.”

Atreus looked relieved, almost, but still wary. “Okay,” he said.

Mimir spoke up hesitantly. “If you two think you’ll be needing a mediator…”

It was, Kratos had to admit, not a terrible suggestion. He wasn’t _especially_ keen on Mimir sitting in on the conversation, but he also didn’t want to risk a _discussion_ turning into an _argument_. “Your decision,” Kratos said quietly.

Atreus considered it, then shook his head. “I’m okay. But thanks, Mimir.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Kratos echoed. Not just for the offer, but for the night before.

To Mimir’s credit, again, he did not gloat about receiving gratitude from Kratos. He only said, “Well, if anything changes, I can’t exactly go far. You know where to find me.”

Hopefully, the head’s intervention would not be needed.

 _See that it does not_ , Kratos told himself.

They sat outside on a tree Kratos had felled but not had the time to finish cutting for firewood. For a long time, they were silent. Kratos tried to gather his thoughts without looking at Atreus too much. He couldn’t get too caught up in worrying what his son was thinking. Not when he had so much he wanted to say, and so much he _had_ to say right.

“…if you start to feel…overwhelmed during the conversation, tell me and we can talk later,” Kratos said finally. “I will do the same. I don’t want us to speak in anger again.”

“Yeah.” Atreus pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn’t look at Kratos, instead focusing on a twig he was spinning between his fingers. “Can I ask something first?” Kratos nodded. “Why do you think I lost control?”

“The wulver was already dead. You were continuing to attack. It was unnecessary.”

Atreus frowned slightly. The twig spun more quickly, then slowed. “It was already dead?”

“Very.”

“Oh. I couldn’t tell. I was trying to make sure I’d really killed it and I thought…” His shoulders slouched slightly. “I guess I did lose control.”

Hearing him admit it was a strange relief. He was _aware_ , at least. “It doesn’t take many blows to the neck to incapacitate,” Kratos explained, “if you hit the right places. A few good strikes, then move on. It will weaken them enough that you can focus on the greater threat.”

“Okay. I’ll remember.”

“And you should not continue to use force once you have won. Especially when you are in that state. You cannot grow too used to violence.”

“Why? I mean…I know _why._ I mean, why is it especially important with _that?_ And what _is_ it? Is it a god thing?”

“An aspect of my heritage, yes.” He may have been older when he learned to harness his rage, but in hindsight, he could see how it showed itself early on—how he fought relentlessly, past the point when even his fellows had fallen, how violence became its own reward, as if even then he knew where his seat in Olympus would be. “One I used carelessly. It was the cause of many of my regrets, and…I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Son.” Atreus looked at him, perhaps sensing the seriousness in his voice. "I only want what's best for you. I may not always know what that is or how to achieve it, but I promise that is my only intention."

Atreus met his gaze, nodded, then looked away again. The frown had returned. He looked so much like his mother, painfully so. They had the same distant gaze when they were trying to solve a problem. Kratos let his son think, spending that time fighting the urge to scratch at his scars.

They hadn’t stung like this in a long time. He half expected to see them bleeding again.

“So it’s not…that I used it,” Atreus said. “You weren’t angry. You were…scared?” Kratos nodded. “Because you don’t want me to be like you. Or like how you were.” Another nod. Atreus had to think again. When he spoke again, there was some frustration in his voice—not the same as last night, but enough that Kratos took notice. "Why does that scare you so much? I know I messed up with Baldur and Modi, but…you keep acting like I'm like you, and...what if I'm _not_ like you? You don't know for sure. _I_ don't even know what I'm like anymore."

Kratos was taken aback. It was the first time he’d heard Atreus express something like that. “What do you mean?”

“You think I’m like the old you, or I _could_ be. The giants say I’m _Loki,_ and I don’t know why that’s such a big deal. I thought I was normal, but I’m not. I’m a god and a giant and I don’t even know what kind of god I am and I feel like I barely know anything about the giants. And whenever I think something is okay, you’re scared of it, or it feels like you think I’m doing everything wrong…”

The twig snapped in half. Atreus jumped at the sound, staring at what was left of it in his grip. Kratos reached out to him, then pulled his hand back. “Do you need time?” he asked instead.

“…yeah.” Atreus wrapped his arms around himself and took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Atreus was quiet and almost still. After a moment, he started breathing slowly, deep inhales, long exhales, the cold making his breath cloud in front of him. Each slow breath seemed to soothe him. Kratos was surprised, then, when he heard Atreus laugh almost tearfully.

“Are you…?”

“Dragon breath.” Atreus rubbed his eyes. “It’s something Mom told me to do to calm down.”

“I remember.” It had been some time since he thought about it, but Kratos did remember. Atreus was prone to fits when he was younger, fits that always brought on his illness; the _dragon breathing_ sometimes help calm him enough that the illness wasn’t so bad, or never manifested at all. “She used to tell me to watch the snow, whenever I needed to calm myself.”

“Yeah. She told me that one, too.” Atreus smiled somberly and leaned over to pick up the broken half of the stick. “She always knew what to do.”

Kratos nodded in agreement. “She knew from experience, I think.” He thought about her crooked nose, about the Faye he never got to know who was angry and started fights, the Faye that he never saw because she had learned to tame her worse impulses. Impulse that were similar to his, but… “You are so much like her,” Kratos said softly. “Maybe…your struggles are more hers than mine.” Not just the anger; the forgetfulness, the wandering mind, the intensity with which they did… _everything_. Everything he had loved her for, but had struggled to understand in his son…

_Because you’re so caught up in treating him like a little version of yourself._

There was some of him in Atreus—the intensity of his stare, the shape of his nose, his strength and the power he could yield in battle (and maybe yield it well, better than Kratos ever had). But there was so much of his mother, and somewhere in the middle of all of that…everything that was uniquely _Atreus_.

Everything Kratos _needed_ to reach.

“I know…I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. I don’t know you as well as I should. I want to guide you and I want to do it properly.” This time, when Kratos reached out, he followed through, gently resting a hand on Atreus’s shoulder. “I will do better to listen. You can tell me what you need…how your mother helped you. We will do it her way.”

They always said they’d protect Atreus together. Maybe they still could.

Kratos felt Atreus’s shoulders relax. “Okay.” The stick kept spinning between his fingers. “Can you…show me how to use it? I don’t want to be like…what I was, but…I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you’re strong but so was Mom, and…”

 _And she still died._ It had been an illness that took her, nothing they could control, nothing Atreus could protect her from. But Kratos understood. The world was cruel, and full of many threats. It was why he still allowed himself to tap into his rage to protect his son. Kratos had _sworn_ to protect him.

Perhaps, in his zeal to make sure no harm came to his son, he had missed that Atreus was now ready to protect _him_.

“I can,” Kratos said. The thought made his stomach twist, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. “It will not be easy. We will have to increase your training.”

“I can handle it,” Atreus said immediately. “I’ll listen. I promise.”

“Hmm. Good.” A thought occurred to him. “What your mother taught you about breathing is a good place to start. Learning to calm yourself is vital. To center your focus, even in combat.” Kratos stood pausing long enough to squeeze Atreus’s shoulder. “But that can wait. We never tended to your knife.”

“Right…” Atreus stood as well, started for the house, hesitated, and turned back to Kratos. Before Kratos could ask if something was wrong, Atreus had embraced him, hugging him with surprising strength. Kratos froze, caught off guard by the sudden affection, suddenly remembering a different set of arms clinging to his leg and begging him not to leave…

Kratos closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly, out slowly. Pictured his breath emerging like a cloud. He rested a hand on the back of Atreus’s head, the most he could manage at the moment.

His hair was getting longer.

Atreus ended the embrace just as quickly as he began it, and jogged into the house without a word. Kratos hesitated outside, stopping to take another deep breath.

 _He is still young. He is learning. He cannot learn as you did, but you can still help him._ Kratos held onto the thought, capturing it in his mind, focusing on it.

_You can do better._

_You **will**._

He followed his son in the house, and readied himself for another winter’s day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't make a glitter jar due to glitter and glass jars not existing, nature is fine. (Also the reference to Atreus having a run-in with a draugr is a shout out to the tie-in podcast they did, "Lost Pages." Kratos and Atreus get an episode. It made me feel All The Feels.)
> 
> Can I just say?? Thank you to everyone who said nice things here and on tumblr. I really appreciate the support. :3 I actually have more God of War stuff cooking, but I want to read Lore and Legends first for inspiration (I will never follow the extended canon to the letter, but I do like drawing from it, and that book has a timeline so THAT will come in handy). It just may take a while to be released, especially with Christmas coming up. I'm crazy busy for the next few weeks for some reason.
> 
> Fingers crossed for a GoW trailer on Thursday!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty if you want to see all the content I have in my queue. Fingers crossed for a GoW 5 trailer at the game awards. (Also the document name for this fic is "Faye-DHD" and it's very important to me that y'all know that. Also also, shout out to [this tumblr post](https://screechthemighty.tumblr.com/post/634189859997859840) by prizmakitty and starlightbebright (not sure their AO3 accounts if any) and How to ADHD videos for helping me figure out the prompts for several of the chapters.)


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